


driving me wild

by orphan_account



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, F/F, First Meetings, Flirting, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7938346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That’s what Isabelle loves most about roller derby, the girls and women, all coming from different places but with that same look in their eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	driving me wild

**Author's Note:**

> written for femslashficlets' [sappho prompt table](http://femslashficlets.dreamwidth.org/15203.html).
> 
> prompt #9: 'you came and i was crazy for you.'
> 
> the ending is a little adrupt bc word limits are my worst enemy. title from wild by troye sivan.
> 
> got some background maia/lily

All of their new prospects have potential, Isabelle can see that; they all have that angry teenage girl determination in their eyes, clenched fists and gritted teeth as they pull themselves up from the ground. That’s what Isabelle loves most about roller derby, the girls and women, all coming from different places but with that same look in their eye.

The names and the aesthetic and, of fucking course, the game itself—in all it’s bloody, vicious glory—come close second; she loves it all, so much, and her mother’s cold, disapproving eyes won’t ruin that, she won’t let them.

Just like this tiny redhead won’t let the assholes catcalling in the stands ruin it for her. It’s not as though the other girls have been ignoring it, but it’s her who stops them with a snarl on her lips and growled out threats (a step-dad in the police force, apparently, but she looks more like she wants to take them on herself than report them). She’s got a bloody, bruised lip and grazed knuckles; she looks a little feral, in a way that Isabelle finds gorgeous. The boys, however, look struck dumb, and scurry away in a hurry, tails between their legs.

The practice goes on, but Isabelle doesn’t pay much attention. Trying not to watch the redhead proves a challenge, but when she catches Isabelle staring, she quirks a smile, almost shy, so Isabelle stops trying.

Isabelle intends to go over to her at the end, but she beats her to it, approaching her as she’s untying her skates on the bench. She lets a warm smile spread across her face.

“Hey, I’m Clary,” the girl—Clary—says, sitting down next to her. “Clary Fairchild.”

“Isabelle Lightwood. You’re a legend in the making, Fairchild, with that mean streak,” Izzy says appraisingly; much to her delight, Clary ducks her head, flushing.

“I have, uh, a slight anger issue,” Clary replies, a little sheepish but not entirely, to which Izzy laughs softly.

“Then you’ve come to the right place, babe.”

+

“You need a derby name,” Isabelle says from across the diner table; their legs are pressed against each other’s and neither of them are doing anything to create distance.

They’ve just come from roller derby practice, Clary’s first one as an official player; Clary hasn’t changed out of her tank top and her hair is slick against her neck and shoulder from her shower. The lipstick she had borrowed from Isabelle at the beginning of practice has washed off now, but the memory of Clary’s lips painted femme fatale red won’t be leaving her anytime soon.

“I’m thinking Tiny Ball Of Rage,” she carries on cheerfully when Clary doesn’t offer anything; Clary rolls her eyes, but her mouth tugs into a reluctant smile.

“Haha,” she intones. “Real funny.”

Isabelle is Angelina Rollie, partially chosen because Jolie in Mr and Mrs Smith was her sexual awakening and partially because, unlike some of the other girls, she wanted to keep it PG-13, due to Max’s constant questions about it.

“Bite-Size Bruiser?” Isabelle goes on, grinning crookedly as Clary levels her with a glare.

“I’ll bite _you_ ,” she threatens before taking a bite of her burger. Isabelle swallows down her instinctual response to that, because, despite what her brother might think, she can do subtlety.

“Something redhead themed, then?” she suggests. “Bloody Mary? Strawberry Shovecake?”

“A little close to Strawberry Shortcake, Iz,” Clary points out, but she’s looking less exasperated now, smiling a little.

“You have a Napoleon complex, Fairchild?” Isabelle says, not unkindly, tilting her head.

Clary snorts. “Probably. I don’t think Camille’s gonna stop with the nicknames, so I might as well own it, right?” Clary says, resigned; Isabelle gives her an encouraging smile. “Strawberry Shortcake it is then.”

“It’s adorable, like you,” Isabelle says with a grin. “Gives the opponent a false sense of security.”

“Thanks Iz,” Clary says dryly, but a pink flush creeps up her neck and to her ears. Isabelle watches, a little entranced, and wonders if Clary blushes like that all over.

It’s then she realizes that she’s a little bit fucked.

Or a lot, if the way she’s tempted to tuck a strand of loose hair back behind Clary’s ear is anything to go by.

+

They win their first game, something Isabelle is not only proud and victorious about, but relieved as well. Lydia’s great at boosting the girls’ spirits, but everyone on the team are pretty damn hard on themselves. It’s usually a good thing—they all dedicate a lot of time and put their all into training—but Isabelle remembers losing their first game her second year of derby. The disappointment was crushing and it had affected most of their games that season.

Winning their first game is a 180 on that; the ecstasy is unreal, almost dreamlike. Lydia, normally so refined, is yelling and whooping and laughing, tugging everyone into bone-crushing hugs. Maia has dragged one of the new recruits, Lily, into a vicious victory kiss, which she’s returning with ferocity to match. Isabelle, currently in a hug akin to a chokehold from Maureen, catches sight of Clary, who is being embraced by who Izzy assumes is her step-dad, Luke. Clary turns around then and, upon seeing her, flashes her a wild grin, then, after muttering something to Luke and her mom, heads towards her.

“Babe,” Izzy says, pulling her into an embrace once she’s close enough, “You were really something out there, you know that.”

“I know,” Clary responds, smirking and cocky, “But, God, you!”

Clary pulls her tighter and then leans up to press a kiss to her cheek. “You’re an actual goddess, Iz.”

“I know,” Isabelle echoes, breathless and grinning. “Coming to the after party?”

“If I don’t celebrate this win, I’m pretty sure I’ll burst into flames from the pent-up energy,” Clary says.

“So that’s a yes, then.”

“Yes,” Clary says, amused; Isabelle idly notices her lipstick is smudged. It’s strangely attractive.

“Well, what are we waiting for?”


End file.
